Analog
by ChromaticDreams
Summary: It all began with a crinkled note with coordinates, written in Ford's own loopy handwriting... But he didn't write this. (Infinite dimensions, infinite Fords)


It all began with a crinkled note, covertly slipped into the side pocket of his rations pack when he wasn't paying attention. The handwriting was cursive- loopy and neat- and identifiably his own.

 _You're not the only Ford trapped in the multiverse,_ it read. _I can help you._ Below the message, a set of coordinates that definitely specified a place within the local star system. (Possibly even the vagabond filled, war-torn desert planet he stood on at this very moment, if he were unlucky.)

Only thirty-five and still incredibly naive to the insurmountable horrors of the multiverse, this particular Stanford Pines quickly calibrated the hodgepodge navigation device he'd obtained a year ago from an (incredibly) illegal black market, and began his journey to the coordinates listed on the note.

Four trips on passenger freighters, two favors, and one stowaway experience in a cargo hold later, he finally found himself in an abandoned lunar spaceport just outside the Nebulzar Empire. The entire complex was so silent that it might as well have been exposed to the vacuum of space. Nevertheless, Ford kept a wary eye on the wall of glass panes separating the inner, breathable atmosphere from the small moon's sub-zero temperatures and lack of oxygen. Call him overreactive, but there was something inherently suspicious about recently abandoned establishments like these. He glanced down at the handheld navigational computer, an uneasy frown etched onto his face.

Something about this entire situation suddenly didn't feel right. The author of the note claimed he was another Ford, and here to help, but where was he? How did he deliver the message to him in the first place? Out of every location he could have selected to meet at, why here? As he reflected on these unanswered questions, Ford began to observe the empty walkways around him through a more calculating lens. His nerves began to tingle as he realized- if this were even remotely possible- that his surroundings were becoming even more silent. His mind harked back to research studies he'd heard of back on Earth… of sound proof rooms so quiet that one might begin hallucinating after only minutes held inside.

The silence was suffocating. He MUST focus on another variable, quick. Ford's eyes locked on the first noteworthy sight available, namely the twinkling cosmos beyond the frosted glass.

Gaseous. Powerful.

Infinite and intimidating.

Wholly _chaotic_. And then…

Ford panicked, ripping a knife from his back pocket and brandishing it towards thin air. His weapon-holding hand shook as he swiveled around on shaky legs, ready to defend himself from the first speck of life that dared enter his line of sight. For just a split second, he could've sworn he saw a glimmer of yellow reflected in that window, heard that dreaded laughter echoing from just around the corner. Or was it all inside his mind? Simple delusion? Heh. Probably. It's not as if he'd grown any more sane since his brother pushed him through the portal.

Just as he started to rationalize that his mind was simply growing restless and capitalizing upon the unnerving environment- just as he prepared to release his hold on the knife, he heard it.

Footsteps.

Heavy ones. The subject would definitely be wearing boots. His grip on the leather handle tightened.

Because of the unique acoustic nature of his surroundings, the sound seemed to be originating from everywhere at once, preventing him from knowing which direction he should keep watch over. The foot falls became louder and closer… Ford's heart was beating so fast he began to feel lightheaded. Then, without any warning the approaching figure halted, plunging the spaceport back into utter silence. Slowly and shakily, he exhaled, watching the steam from his breath hover into the air, oddly stagnate.

A hand grabbed onto his shoulder suddenly, jolting his heart rate back to infinity. _Six fingers_. Ford whipped his head around and saw his (salt-and-pepper haired) double, who began to ask "was it you who planted that note in my-"

He never had a chance to finish his query. As quickly as they made contact with each other, the fabric of this dimension began to fizz and blur. The two Fords screamed as some unknown force sucked every nearby fragment of matter into the same space they both occupied. It was almost as if a black hole opened up precisely where they stood, the immense weight of the universe pulling them under the event horizon and stretching their molecules to near-impossible lengths.

Just a moment more, and this reality- and every creature who possessed the poor fortune to inhabit it at the time- ceased to exist.

A dimension away, a deceitfully conniving demon laughed.


End file.
